


And Heaven Too

by skyeward



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Love Letters, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 08:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8972041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyeward/pseuds/skyeward
Summary: A poet she isn't, but Cassandra has something to say.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Lady's Favor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4615977) by [ChocoChipBiscuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit). 



> For Taylor! Shorter and less sad than originally budgeted for, but still with a happy ending.
> 
> A sort-of sequel to [At Sunset](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3169427) , but can be read on its own.

Cassandra stared at the parchment, quill held in a trembling hand as she beheld the words scribbled in the last clear spot on the parchment. ‘My darling’, it said. All around that, a hundred  variations on the same theme: ‘my love’, ‘my heart’, all things she was certain Vivienne would scoff to be called, all scratched out. She stared at the newest words for a few seconds more, then drew a line through them. That was it, her last scrap of parchment.

It was in good company, at least - she was surrounded by a dozen others just like it, scraps and end bits of parchment  filled and overfilled with her own narrow, spiky handwriting run through with angry black lines. She set the quill aside with deliberate carefulness, given that her hands were shaking, and stoppered the ink bottle. That done, she stood up, balled her fists, and slammed them on the heavy wooden table. The dull thud did nothing to assuage her anger, although the pain in her hands did a creditable job of forcing back the tears that burned just behind her eyes.

She dropped into her seat again, fists in her lap, and stared unseeing at the bitter, misshapen fruits of her labor.

_ Is this it? _ She wondered, heart settling heavily alongside her stomach. _ Is this all that comes when I try to articulate my love? Is this all that will come of my love? _ Her stomach churned, and she put her head in her hands. She longed to fall back on the words of others as she had before, to recite a bit of poetry with a few words changed around, but… well, perhaps ‘cowardly’ wasn’t quite the right word, but it conveyed the feeling quite nicely. These had to be her own words. 

She contemplated switching languages, but that seemed an exercise in foolishness. She spoke only Nevarran and Common fluently, and Nevarran - to her mind, at least - was not a language suited to flowery language. Moreover, she was fairly certain that Vivienne’s grasp of the language, if any, was likely to be academic rather than romantic. Orlesian might have been a good choice, if she had bothered to embark on any real study of the language during her years in Val Royeaux. As is was, the best she could hope for was a rough idea of what was being said to her, enough to grunt affirmatively or negatively.

Besides, considering the amount of damage she’d managed to do to the hardy, well-worn words of the common trade-tongue, the attempt would probably utterly destroy the more delicate-seeming language of Orlais. The poor language; it didn’t deserve such rough treatment.

Sacred Andraste, she had read more declarations of love than probably any other denizen of Skyhold, even including the man who had  _ written _ a fair number of those declarations, so why was this so  _ difficult _ ? She used words every day! She wrote reports, read reports, handled briefings and meetings and even the occasional friendly conversation, all using words. Perhaps she wasn’t the most ‘eloquent’ or ‘diplomatic’ or whatever other foolishness others might expect of her from time to time, but she made herself understood. She spoke the simple, unvarnished truth every day without hesitation, so why - when it mattered so much, when she needed so badly to make this one truth known - did she falter now?

She lifted her head from her hands.

_ The truth. _

She sat up.

_ The simple truth. _

She dug through piles of parchment, shoving the pieces every which way as she flipped them over one by one until - a miracle! - she found a piece with nothing written on the back. She prized the stopper from the ink with fingers that shook, dipped her quill, and stared at the tiny blank space, no bigger than the palm of her hand. The quill dripped into the inkpot.

_ The simple, unvarnished truth. _

_ Vivienne, _ she wrote, her entire consciousness narrowing to the point of the quill where it touched the parchment. The truth, the truth, the truth. This she knew, this she could do. The words flowed from her fingertips, tiny and square and scratchy, in lines that wandered up and down along the page drunkenly. It didn’t matter; she’d be neater when she copied it over.

* * *

The piece of vellum was small, not much bigger than Daphnae’s head when the hairless cat rubbed against it, purring. Vivienne scooped up both the note and the cat before anything inconvenient could happen.

“Has someone perfumed the note with cat mint, darling? It’s unlike you to purr so at anything besides that and our dear Seeker.”

Daphnae answered only with more purring as she pulled herself up onto Vivienne’s shoulders and stretched out. With both hands free, Vivienne gently tugged the ribbon holding the note closed, noting idly that the vellum, although heavy and clearly good-quality, smelled a bit of iron and coal. Odd, for something bound like a love letter.

The handwriting inside was small but neat, clean black lines in orderly rows like little soldiers across the page, the script of a person accustomed to fitting entire reports into the slivers of parchment carried by ravens. She had seen it before, doing exactly that.

_ Vivienne, _ those tiny neat letters said.

_ I love you. More than the sun, more than the stars, more than life itself. I want to sleep beside you, wake beside you, tie my fortunes to yours. And, yes, to that damnable cat’s. I know that you grieve still, and I write this not to pressure you; I expect no reply. I only wanted you to know. _

_ With all my love, _

_ Cassandra _

“Oh,” she said, and her voice was small and tinny in her ears. “Oh Daphnae, what are we to do?”

The cat rubbed her face against the note again, purring with all her might, and a laugh bubbled up from somewhere in Vivienne’s chest, bursting from her lips in a small, incredulous sound.

“Too right, my dear. Too right.”

* * *

The note waited on her bedside table when Cassandra returned from the Chantry. She regarded it silently for a moment, the calm of her morning devotions hanging over her heart just enough that the emotions unfurled like flowers rather than exploding. Her fingers still trembled when she picked it up, though. It was neither perfumed nor sealed with a lip print - had she really expected either from Vivienne, though? - and her heart thundered in her ears as she unfolded it.

_ C. _

_ I expect I should chastise you for not being more circumspect, but the truth is I’d not have you any other way than as you are. I am not gifted with fortune-telling and so am not given to know if our fortunes may indeed intertwine, but I think perhaps our afternoon cups of tea might. _

_ I await your reply. _

_ Yours, _

_ V. _

* * *

_ V. _

_ Yes. _

_ C. _

**Author's Note:**

> 'Vivienne has a hairless cat' comes from: [ this post ](http://inklie.tumblr.com/post/123488905670/headcannon-that-vivi-finds-a-stray-sphynx-cat-that)  
> And I have adopted it as canon.


End file.
